


The Captain

by summerofspock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, Angst, Flirting, M/M, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his experiences on Tarsus, Jim Kirk is not about to sit back and relax while Starfleet lets the wealthy elite destroy the Federation with their greed. He's got his Crew, he's got his ship, and he's out to rob the rich.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Captain

**Author's Note:**

> this is my Robin Hood AU. Spock is kind of a Guy of Gisborne/Sheriff of Nottingham/Maid Marian mashup. Go with it. It's fun.

The grass in Spock’s front lawn is too green. He voiced his concerns to his mother, but she was not receptive. “Things cannot be too anything, Spock. Things just are,” she had said with the smile that Spock knew meant she was laughing at him. He left in huff.

He is confronted by the too greenness of this grass as he sits on the porch of his family’s earth home. They have been here for 9.8 months and Spock is still not used to the bright blue sky, the obscene greenness. He looks on as it dances in the Iowa breeze, thankful for the heat that September provides.

He is abruptly pushed to the ground by a whirl of jean shorts and blond hair.

“Spock!”

“Jim,” Spock replies, standing up and dusting off his robes. Jim rolls into a sitting position and crosses his legs, his unruly blond hair a flop across his forehead.

“School starts in a week, are you excited?”

Jim looks earnest, but Spock sees an underlying thread of something in his bright blue eyes. “Vulcans do not feel excitement.”

“Yeah, right,” Jim says, with a look over his shoulder across the lawn.

There is a moment of silence and the breeze agitates his mother’s “wind chimes” causing them to strike each other. Spock finds the delicate sound soothing.

“Guess what?” Jim finally says so explosively that Spock can feel his excitement despite the distance between them.

Spock sits down next to Jim and allows their knees to touch. He feels something in the contact. He is not sure if he likes it, but he persists.

When Spock doesn’t guess, Jim continues, “I got selected for the Tarsus program!”

“Congratulations, Jim,” Spock says calmly, ignoring the sudden weight in his stomach. Tarsus is very far. Much farther than the field that separates their homes.

Jim bumps Spock’s shoulder with his own. “I’m super excited! I leave next week. There’s going to be advanced engineering and linguistics and I’m definitely going to get into Starfleet now!”

“Indeed,” Spock says simply.

Jim deflates slightly at Spock’s flat tone. “Hey, just because you didn’t apply doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

Jim rolls his eyes. By now their sides are pressed fully together and Spock finds he does not mind.

“I’m gonna miss you too, you know.”

Spock doesn’t respond. He stares out over the dancing grass, his ears filled with the sound of the chimes. Jim’s hand finds its way into his. It is warm.

**  
“Scream, and I’ll cut out your voicebox,” Uhura says and she slams the guard against the wall, a plasma knife barely a millimeter away from his quivering adam’s apple. “You in, Chekov?”

The curly-haired teen fiddles with entrypad. “One more second.”

“Running out of seconds here,” Uhura says, keeping eye contact with the guard whose brown eyes are starting to tear up from lack of oxygen. She relaxes her grip on his windpipe. “Remember what I said about screaming?”

The door whooshes open and Chekov dashes in, his curls bouncing. The guard opens his mouth and Uhura slams him against the wall. His head knocks loudly and he falls to the floor with a sad thump. She toes his body with her boot. Out cold. She takes his phaser. You can’t ever have too many phasers.

She steps through the opened office and leans against the wall, watching Chekov work. The Captain was right, the kid was worth it. Two stings simultaneously? Chekov was making his ransom back several times over. She wonders if the Orion they bought him from knew what he was worth. Unlikely. 3000 credits for his “beauty?” Should have been selling his brains.

Uhura flips open her communicator. “Uhura to Sulu, status update.”

“We’re in the Head’s office. Unfortunately, the Head was too. I’ve taken care of it. Scotty’s in the mainframe and we’ve started a download.”

“Affirmative. Chekov is in the bank’s accounts. We’re ripping off the top.”

“30 more seconds,” Chekov says. Uhura can tell he’s still not over the nervousness of the heist.

“I’m calling for beam out. Keep me updated, Sulu.”

“Always do.”

The communicator chimes off and she switches channels. “Uhura to McCoy, prepare for beam out in 30.”

“Preparing for beam-out.”

The Doctor’s southern drawl always makes Uhura smile. Chekov types furiously, his eyes dancing across the screen. “Yes!” he cries.

Uhura doesn’t move from her position by the door but she stands up straight. “What is it?”

“Hidden account,” Chekov replies, still focused on the computer. “I’m taking 20%.”

“20?” Uhura says taking a step forward without intending to. “The Captain says never more than 10.”

Chekov meets her eyes. “Trust me, they won’t miss it.”

Her eyebrows fly up at the implication. How rich were these bastards?

Chekov stands up and declares, “Done!”

McCoy’s voice crackles over the communicator. “Prepare for beam out in five-four-three-two…”

Uhura feels the tug of the transporter just as her communicator crackles, “Code red, code red. Guards in the Head they’ve got--”

She rematerializes on the transporter pad just as the communication dies. She makes eye contact with McCoy.

“Fuck.”

**  
Spock still stays on Earth occasionally at what his mother calls their “summer home.” He has become fond of the of the greenness, likes this water planet. It is not home, but it is...peaceful.

He frequently thinks back on his summer with Jim. They had kept in contact for the first two years, but after Jim’s fifteenth birthday, the communications had ended. No video comms and no written messages. It has been six months. His controls are better now that he is older, but sometimes, unbidden, he remembers the feel of Jim’s hand in his.

The Tarsus program should last three years. Spock tries not to count the months until Jim will be back on Earth, until he can see that face again.

It is July, and warmer than most days. Spock welcomes the heat with an open bedroom window as he meditates. He smells grass and the wind promises rain. It is illogical but Spock feels like a cloud floating in the fading blue sky.

“Spock!” The hoarse voice punctuates his peace. Spock knows that voice. His eyes pop open and he is greeted by the sight of Jim, sitting on his bedroom windowsill. At first he cannot stop the pleasure that subsumes his body, but it is quickly replaced by worry. Jim’s body is frail. His big, blue eyes sunk into his pallid cheeks. The bones of hands white where he grips the wall.

Spock stands. “Jim! Are you all right?”

Jim sinks to the floor of Spock’s room, his back pressed against the wall. “I just got back.”

“From Tarsus? On break? You do not look well, Jim.” Spock cannot decide what to do with his hands. Part of him desires to reach for Jim. He cannot help it.

“Yeah, from Tarsus. From hell.”

Spock does not know how to respond.

Jim puts his head into his hands and takes a shuddering breath. “It got bad, Spock. The wheat...the wheat was ruined. Everybody. Fighting. For months.”

Spock is not sure he understands, but he approaches Jim and sits next to him.

“I helped the kids. I tried. The Governor’s men, they had hoarded so much. I--I stole. I--”

Jim’s shoulders begin to shake and he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I am certain you did what you thought was best.”

“You don’t know what I did,” Jim spits. And then he looks at Spock, his eyes red-rimmed and his nose wet with tears. “They tried to keep me at Starfleet. Here, in Iowa. They put me in a room for ‘questioning.’ I can’t, Spock. I can’t do it. This is all their fault. I escaped. I came here.”

Jim reaches out and touches Spock’s cheek, tears stream down his face. “I thought of you every day. I wanted to see you. Just once more. More than anything.”

Spock takes Jim’s hand. “Jim, you need to eat.”

Jim looks at the ground and takes his hand away. “I can’t. I tried. It makes me sick.”

“I will go have Mother procure you some Plomeek broth--”

“No! No one can know I’m here. They’ll take me back.” Jim starts shaking again, this time without tears.

Spock feels lost. “Please let me at least bring you water. I will bring you soup. Eat what you can.”

Jim nods. “All right. For you, Spock.”

When Spock returns with a bowl of broth and a pitcher of water, Jim is curled up in his bed, asleep. Certain he will not mind, Spock folds himself into the bed and catalogues the lines of Jim’s face.

**  
When Spock had joined the Poverty Relief Division of Starfleet, he had thought he would be doing good in hopes of diverting other disaster like Tarsus. And, for the most part, he did not mind his job when bloated aristocrats swiped their cards over his scanner and he saw Starfleet’s coffers grow. But that part of the job was rare. More often than not it is this.

“Sir, swipe your card. According to my records, you are not on the census for this colony. Therefore, you must pay an additional tax as a non-citizen,” Spock says as he holds out his padd for the man to swipe his data card.

The old man blinks up at him and Spock can’t help be reminded of other sky blue eyes. He does not sigh but it is a close thing. The man hobbles forward on his cane. Spock would suggest he seek medical attention for what is clearly a failing hip, but the state of his home--hovel rather--suggests he cannot afford such care.

Just as Spock holds out the padd for the man to swipe his card, he is surprised by an abrupt blow to the head. The hunched man towers over him, holding his padd in one hand and fastening his wrists together behind his back.

“Fancy meeting you here, Spock,” the old man says, his wrinkled skin twisting into a wry smile as he looks down at the Vulcan.

Peeling off the artificial skin takes a matter of moments and the man does so as he seats himself in the only chair in the room. The packed earth beneath Spock’s back reflects the sound of his heavy footsteps into Spock’s spine.

“Jim.” Spock says, not bothering to try and move into a sitting position. This will be over quickly.

“Can’t believe you fell for that one. I didn’t even put contacts in. Didn’t you once tell me you could recognize my face among a thousand man line up? Or something like that?” Jim admonishes as he tinkers with Spock’s padd.

“It was: ‘recognize you in any state, among a thousand men.’ But yes, the sentiment was similar.”

The dark room falls silent and Spock finally wriggles into a sitting position. He feels like a child again, sitting in the dirt.

“What will you do with the credits?”

Jim huffs a laugh as he continues to hack into Spock’s padd. “I can’t tell you that. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

“I dislike surprises,” Spock says as Jim stands, sets the padd onto chair and moves to stand over him.

“Not when it comes to me.”

Before Spock can reply, Jim is on him, straddling his hips and pushing his shoulders back into the dirt. His mouth is rough and Spock can smell the remnants of adhesive on his skin. Spock kisses back, brutal and unforgiving, meeting every thrust of Jim’s tongue with one of his own. He bites at Jim’s bottom lip.

Jim pulls back with a gasp. “Why, Commander Spock, you bit me!”

“You tied me up. Captain.”

The humor fades from Jim’s eyes at the appellation. He pulls a communicator out from beneath his old man’s robes. “Bones, this is Jim. Ready for beam out.”

Jim looks at Spock. “The shackles are on automatic release. Once I’m out of comm range, you’ll be released.”

Spock can’t help himself, he asks, “When will I see you again?”

This brings back Jim’s smile. “I’ll surprise you,” he promises as he fades into the transporter’s beam.

**

Spock wakes later than Jim. His human body hunched in on itself at the edge of the bed, his chin in his hands.

“I can’t let them do it again.

Spock sits up, sleep forgotten. “Who?”

“Starfleet. They’ll starve out entire regions. Tax people into the ground. For what? For peace? I saw this so-called peace and it nearly killed me. I can’t…”

“Jim, you are just one adolescent human. You cannot hold against the entire military of the Federation.”

Jim looks at him. “Come with me then.” His blue eyes show a spark of what used to be and that spark burns Spock to his core.

“I cannot.”

Jim stand, suddenly angry. “Why not? Can’t you see what they did to me?” he yells. He gestures down his body. At some point in the night, he removed his prison issue shirt and Spock can count his ribs.

“I’m not even the worst of it. I went into the famine healthy.”

Spock takes in Jim’s words, takes in his body and stands. “Even if they are corrupt, what are you going to do about it?”

Jim’s ragged body is like a balloon. Spock can see his chest puff up as he grins. “Steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

**

Jim’s barely off the transporter pad before Uhura rushes him. “The Head’s got Scotty and Sulu.”

“Shit,” Jim responds, tearing off the robes of his disguise and exiting the transporter room. He and Uhura walk side by side through the corridors of his ship, his greatest heist to date. Sometimes, when he lies in bed and he can’t sleep, he thinks about the day he stole this transport ship. He and Bones had waltzed into that Starfleet hangar and waltzed out with a decent sized exploration vessel. They’d made some...tweaks since then. Scotty couldn’t keep his hands off the engine.

“Do you know where they have them?”

“Chekov’s triangulated their comm signals into a prison lockup in some Starfleet outpost off of the colony. They’re still alive.”

“Of course they are. The Commander hasn’t gotten to them yet.”

Uhura pauses in her breakneck pace to the bridge. “How do you know?”

Jim grins. “Because I left him on the surface of the colony. Got a pretty penny from him too.”

Uhura grins right back.

“How long until we’re at the outpost?”

“I told Chekov to warp as soon as we had you on board. Shouldn’t be any longër than five minutes.”

“Proceed to the bridge and tell Chekov to cloak once we’re within range, even if that means slowing down. Once we’re in orbit, put it on auto and have everyone meet me in the War Room.”

“Yes, sir!” Uhura says, snapping a smart salute. Jim knows she’s mostly joking. It’s that goddamn nickname: the Captain. Of fucking course. Run away from the ‘Fleet and they mock you for it until they have your head.

**  
“Jim, I cannot go with you.”

“Why not?”

Spock cannot help but think that Jim suddenly sounds like the 13-year-old who left him two and half years ago. “I am already enrolled at the Academy.”

Jim looks at him in shock. He rubs his hands up and down his arms before turning to the window. “They took you early.”

“I passed all of the required exams. I saw no reason not to enroll at the earliest opportunity.” Spock does not mention he enlisted in Starfleet to be with Jim.

Without warning, Jim kisses him. It is rough and unpracticed. Jim’s breathing grows shallow as he pulls away. “I dreamed about doing that. Though usually, in the dreams, you kissed me back.”

So Spock does. It is not logical. But he wishes it.

When they break apart, Jim looks him in the eye and smiles half-heartedly. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time you told me I was illogical and I think I’ll never stop. But I have to do this. And if you’re not coming with me, then I’m going alone.”

Spock tries to stop him, but he is already out the window. He watches Jim run through the green fields, all the while his fingers pressed unconsciously to his lips.

**

Jim’s halfway through the outpost when Spock stops him with a phaser blast strategically aimed just above his right shoulder. “In the name of Starfleet, you are under arrest.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Not this again.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and says nothing. Jim puts his hands up. “Thought we’d beat you here,” he observes.

“They contacted me immediately upon arresting members of your Crew.”

“Right. The Commander, out to get the Captain and his mercenary Crew. Fun job title.”

“I am a Peace Advisor.”

“Commander of the Peace Advisors,” Jim needles. Spock remains impassive. “C’mon just let me get my boys.”

“You have stolen upwards of one million credits from the Federation elite. There is more than one warrant out for your arrest, let alone your…Crew.”

Jim crosses his arms, certain Spock won’t bother shooting him. “Look, I’m doing good with the money and it’s no skin off their teeth. Most of them hardly notice the credits we take.”

Spock lowers his phaser as Jim approaches him. He runs a hand down the Vulcan’s arm and Spock can feel a tantalizing glimmer of his emotions, his want.

Spock is Vulcan and he does not roll his eyes. He does NOT. “Fine.”

Jim however feels no qualms about punching the air. “You’re the best, babe,” he says sweetly before kissing Spock swiftly on the cheek as he brushes past him into the holding deck.

“Do not call me babe.”

“You know you love me,” Jim calls from halfway down the other hall.

Unfortunately, Spock did.


End file.
